


histoire restante (logan and jean and me)

by frogfarm



Series: Jean Dies At the End [2]
Category: X-Men (Original Timeline Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bechdel Test Fail, Consent Issues, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, F/F, F/M, Genderqueer, Girl Penis, I'm going to the special hell, Loss of Virginity, Mutant Powers, Oral Sex, Other, Porn with Feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Skin Hunger, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, The Author Regrets Nothing, Transformation, Vaginal Sex, contender for biggest femslash bechdel test fail ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 16:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: Ever since Jean did something nice for her, Marie's all she can think about.A downward spiral leads to the dark power of the Phoenix.Pre-X2 to post-X3. Jean, Logan and Rogue POV's.





	1. Admissions and Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Some minor recycled canon dialogue.
> 
> Just as the original story followed the canon events of X1, this follows the second and third movies very closely, so if you're expecting a happy outcome for us all, this is not the fic you're looking for. Pretty damn good for Logan and Rogue, but getting there is half the battle.
>
>>  
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>> _"I don't want you to go."_  
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> * * *
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>> _But breathing yet while she doth burn_  
>  The deathless daughter of the sun.  
> \- George Darley
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> * * *
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> 

The stately mansion in the foothills of Salem is quieter than usual on this peaceful spring afternoon. While Jean Grey is normally a very patient woman, today is the day she's reached the point of no return. With Scott off leading a student training exercise, the rest of the senior X-Men either on vacation or on assignment, it's the perfect time for someone to attend to the small but significant pile of nagging little issues that inevitably come first on the list when picking something to procrastinate. It therefore comes as no surprise when the person responsible for compiling that list over time inevitably decides that they're the only one qualified to complete it according to standard.

So it goes that this task and every other last little undertaking now falls to Jean, when she realizes her soul can stand no more. First comes the tidying and gathering of papers, until her office is finally and totally in order for the first time all year. Then it's up on a ladder to patch the hole in the ceiling where Bobby's icicles had stuck around for too long, causing minor water damage; followed by donning a disposable filter mask for a quick spelunking through the fridge and the ritual dumping of items long overdue, from Logan's leftover Chinese food to Hank's forgotten experiments. She's just finished scrubbing under her nails and is rinsing up when when a mental touch alerts her to the professor's mind, echoing back her near instantaneous confirmation of his intent: The equivalent of _When you have a moment_ and _Be right there_.

Jean dries her hands and shakes her hair loose from the utilitarian ponytail, checking for stains on her clothes, then takes the long route to the study, dawdling all the way. It's a beautiful day, and most of the windows are open, allowing them full enjoyment of the weather outside.

She knocks once on the professor's door before entering; yet another part of their mostly unspoken protocol, worked out over the years as they got to know one another. At some point it was clear that they trusted the other with their life and more, and she still feels closer to him than anyone outside of her own husband. In some ways, unavoidably so, their bond is far stronger, but it's one Scott has never been jealous of.

"Jean." The professor looks up from his desk, a warm smile adding to the modest collection of crow's feet around his eyes. Much like herself, he's forgone his usual formal attire in favor of faded jeans and an old T-shirt that's clearly seen better days.

He takes in her appearance with a chuckle. "Great minds think alike."

"Just catching up on household chores," she says, taking a seat. "Some a bit grimier than others."

"I'll happily trade you in exchange for filling out paperwork." He grimaces and sips from his waterglass. "It's bad enough when I don't have to lie on the forms. I actually feel guilty for not telling them."

"Who?"

"Eh? Oh, everyone. The city, the county, the state -- yes, even the federales." The professor shakes his head. "I'm afraid I may be getting soft in my old age."

"And you want to tell them -- about the secret underground tunnels? The highly illegal aviation facility, or the unregulated aircraft?" Jean shakes her head. "I am shocked, shocked to find gambling going on in this establishment."

"Yes, well -- one should render unto Ceasar as much as humanly possible." He allows himself a rueful chuckle. "Says the mutant."

"I won't tell if you don't." Jean smiles. "So what's up?"

"I was just going over our records." He gestures at the piles of paper strewn across his desk. "And thinking they're a poor substitute for actual observation and interaction."

"True enough," she concedes. Something nags at the corner of her thought; a shadowy hint of movement, just out of sight.

The professor pushes his chair away from the desk. "So how would you say Rogue has been doing?"

"Rather well." Jean can feel her heartrate quicken, ever so minutely. "Considering her situation."

"I see she's chosen not to color her hair."

"Some scars, you don't try to hide." Jean reflects on this, throwing caution to the wind. "I think it looks good on her."

"It is quite striking." The professor nods and purses his lips. "And how goes young Sir Robert's quest to woo yon maiden fair?"

Jean's brief snort of laughter is wholly unexpected, and feels all the better for it.

"I'm afraid she's not as enamored of Bobby as he might have hoped. But I think they'd rather be friends than nothing at all."

"Has she said anything?" The professor steeples his hands, eyes narrowing in shrewd assessment. "Or would this be that much-vaunted female intution I've heard so much about?"

"Just a hunch." Her smile fades, reflecting the subtle gravity emanating from him. "I told her she would never have to worry about me, or anyone touching her mind without her permission. And I meant it."

"I'm sure you did." His calm pacifies her, but only a little. "I'd expect no less."

And without a trace of mental contact, she knows that _he_ knows.

"How --" She swallows as untold horrific possibilities blossom, along with still more memories of pure, unbridled happiness. She never would have dreamed of doing such a thing. But the reality of being confronted with a young girl's misery -- the prisoner of her own mutation, incapable of physical contact with another living soul -- had left Jean unable to do anything but offer herself and her services on a platter to a girl barely half her age.

It had been utterly spontaneous on her part, the decision to violate her wedding vows. Except her role as proxy had gone up in smoke nearly from the moment their minds first made contact. The secret passion, the unexpected romance and outright lust that she and Marie had shared while joined by her powers, all had touched Jean more deeply than she had anticipated -- all manner of pun intended. And that was solely between the two of them, with matters further complicated by the splinter of Logan's consciousness that resided within the younger woman, expressing its attraction to both of them in ways that neither could have foreseen. Although Jean does sometimes think that it all seems perfectly predictable, with the benefit of hindsight. Her only comfort right now is the certain knowledge that between her and the professor, there's no way another living soul could be within a mile of the house without one of them knowing it. The professor, naturally.

Through the haze of her thoughts she can sense him wheeling out from behind the desk, coming around to pull up beside her. His hand comes to rest on hers in a firm and reassuring grasp.

"Well, I am the most powerful telepath on the planet." The professor covers his mouth with his free hand, stifling a mockery of an embarrassed cough. "Or so I've been told."

The dry humor in his voice bears no condemnation. Only love and understanding.

"One doesn't have to witness every event in order to be cognizant of something after the fact." He gives her hand a squeeze, his gaze seeking to convey meaning without resorting to telepathy. "Or need to know any particular details, in order to be capable of understanding the broader picture."

She sits there with her hand in his. From outside the window comes the sound of running water in the fountain, birds landing and fluttering away. The tips of her fingers tingle with the memory of imaginary skin, her ears burning to hear Marie whispering her name, growling in agonized release. All of Logan's long years of frustration, his own lust for Jean had combined with the young girl's own attraction to him, all channeled into a grueling psychic marathon lasting only seconds in real time.

"I don't --" She hangs her head. "I do know what I was thinking. I just wanted to help and my God, what a _selfish_ way to help someone -- a _child_ , practically --"

"Not legally." This time the professor does cough, although he quickly recovers. "While I would never advise anyone to allow the law to be the sole arbiter of their moral code -- on that score at least, you are safe. And regardless of your position of authority over anyone at this school, or the years between you -- Jean. Please believe me."

She can only sit and wait for the hammer to fall.

"Given the course of my own life, I am completely and utterly unsurprised. And I can only judge your actions by their results -- which as far as I can tell, have been nothing but positive. In fact, I would say Rogue has been adjusting extraordinarily well to this new environment." A note of wry observation colors his tone. "As you say -- considering her situation."

Jean remains silent as he continues.

"Your sense of empathy is almost as powerful as your mental abilities. It's not difficult to imagine your motivation --"

"It wasn't a mercy fuck." Defensive enough to snap back, she at least retains sufficient self-control to keep her voice low.

"Really, Jean." The professor's tone is only slightly reproving. "You think that little of me?"

"I'm sorry," she says. And there is that shadow again, out on the farthest edge of her awareness.

"I'm only telling you what I know you already know." The kindness in his eyes is sufficient to hold her concerns at bay, at least for now. "Because that's what father figures do."

Jean's snort is pure reflex even as she finds her dark mood being unwillingly quieted, soothed back down into slumber. "Really."

"It's in the official job description. I can show you the handbook."

The old familiar twinkle should be enough, and still she has to lower her gaze. His compassion sharpens and firms to quiet resolve.

"You know I would say nothing of this to anyone -- to Scott in particular -- unless I were absolutely certain that the good would outweigh the harm. And since there is very little one can be certain of in this world --" He shrugs, with a cryptic smile.

"I do love him," she whispers.

"I've never doubted that for a moment."

"He does." She does her best not to let it all come pouring out, struggling for control. "Sometimes -- I can't help but know. No matter what I do, or say --"

She breaks off, frustrated at the clumsy limitation of mere _words._ The professor sighs.

"I wouldn't normally mention this, but the situation rather compels it." Xavier actually looks embarrassed himself, now. "In my youth, when Erik and I first met, we quite naturally -- experimented. Testing the limits of our powers, and our bodies."

"I...guess I always kind of suspected." Jean finds herself smiling, even if she still can't quite meet his gaze. "Female intuition."

"Mental constructs -- false realities, whatever term you like -- I had always found a particularly fascinating subject. Initially I was exploring them as memory aids -- a literal photographic memory, you might say. But after I lost the use of my legs, these...virtual worlds, became my primary outlet." The professor shifts slightly in his wheelchair, settling back in with a brief grimace of discomfort. "For a time."

Jean absorbs all this in silence. 

"Apart from our radical differences in philosophy -- at least some of our eventual falling out stemmed from Erik trying to capture a level of intimacy between us in the physical world, that had only been realized in our shared thoughts." Xavier chuckles, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Of course, it took me a few years to fully realize what had taken place."

Jean swallows, her thoughts awhirl as the professor concludes.

"And so you see my concerns."

"Yes." She shakes her head, realizing the true scope of her dilemma. "If -- if she came to me, and asked me -- I'd like to think that I could turn her down. But --"

"Yes."

Jean manages a tired smile. "You know how she feels about him."

"She's always been an open book on that subject." The professor's smile is half grimace, half resignation. "I doubt anyone living here could possibly remain ignorant for long. Mind reading notwithstanding."

Jean nods. "I realize that relationship has its own...unique set of issues. But as long as she can't control her power -- that's going to be true of anyone."

"Indeed." The professor squeezes her hand again and releases it, rubbing his own arm with a wince. Still, his mood is jovial as he rolls back behind the desk. "Well -- hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Eh?"

Jean can barely dare hope. "Is that all?"

"Mm? Oh, well." Xavier chuckles, bending to his work. "It's never truly over, is it?"


	2. Skin In the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean succumbs to temptation, opening the door to the Phoenix.

It turns out to be only a few days later that Marie approaches her, which only indicates once more to Jean the perpetual cosmic unfairness of existence. Actually it takes her all day to put together the barrage of subtle clues, from the morning dab of perfume to the early birthday card, complete with an apple for the teacher ("I know it's not 'til next month, but I just wanted to do something nice for you"). By the time she realizes what's going on, or thinks she does, it's the middle of the day. Jean spends the rest of the afternoon alternately being glad that Marie is being so discreet in her flirtation, followed by a sinking feeling at the inevitable unpleasant prospect that lies before her.

It's with a heavy heart that she greets the young woman that evening when Marie comes to the examination room, hope and hunger emanating from every part of her and every part of Jean crying out to answer that call. The whole thing is made worse by Rogue's delicate hinting that she would, in fact, absolutely love a repeat session; so much so that details are nearly wholly irrelevant, so keen is her craving for the merest physical contact.

"Just a massage," Rogue whispers. She's rocking back and forth on the exam table, gripping the edge, doing her best not to fidget. "I'm not askin' you to ch--"

"I know." Jean finds herself fighting back tears as her latex-encased fingers encompass those smaller ones.

"I wouldn't --" Marie swallows and lowers her voice. "Not again --- never again, okay? I just..." Her entire body seems to shudder and she throws back her head, staring at the white tiles overhead. "I just want someone to touch me."

_Yes._ Jean sends it as a quiet thought, the briefest of mental intimacy. It's all she dares. Anything longer bears too much risk, for both of them.

Marie bows her head and stares at her bare feet, dangling well above the floor.

"If you think about it --" Jean clears her throat, striving for the proper degree of reassurance and authority. "I'm sure you can come up with plenty of reasons."

Rogue's short, barking laugh is without a shred of humor. "Is this my homework assignment, teach?"

Jean says nothing as she holds on to the young girl's trembling hand. Her own fingers are nearly being crushed by the return grip, sweating in their latex casing. 

"I know." Rogue sighs, and the pressure eases slightly. "No matter how good it is -- I know it's not real."

Something cracks inside Jean. No dramatic shattering; no great big mess, too many pieces scattered beyond hope of recovery. But Marie is still speaking.

"And we just don't know, do we? If it might -- make it harder for me to...I mean, if it ever is an option -- someday --"

"Exactly," Jean interjects. The wave of relief is almost obscene, combined with gratitude. Marie is wiping her eyes, trying not to sniffle, and Jean leans over to grab the tissues from her desk.

"It might help if you had more friends your own age." She tries not to sound like an ancient schoolmarm.

"Kitty's fine." Marie blows her nose with a vigorous yet delicate honk. "I have all kinds of girl talks with her. Not about us," she adds hastily.

"I wouldn't think so." Jean pats her on the shoulder but remains standing, keeping a more professional distance.

"I think she's afraid to talk to Bobby." Marie rolls her eyes. "Probably doesn't want to hurt my feelings."

"You didn't tell her about Logan?" Jean sounds as incredulous as the idea itself, before the more obvious thought occurs. "She doesn't know about Logan?"

"Logan doesn't know about Logan." Marie rolls her eyes again, her cheeks a rosy red. Jean chuckles at the sour look being contrasted with such a cute face.

"Gotta know about me, though." The young woman's appearance turns crestfallen. "I probably stink up the whole house every night, just thinkin' on him."

"You remember what he said." Jean massages the girl's neck and shoulders, doing her utmost to send positive energy through the ultrathin rubber. "A man like that wouldn't want to feel like he was taking advantage."

Her voice softens.

"Like I did."

"Jean -- no." Rogue's eyes are wide with realization as she turns, fixing the older woman with the intensity of her gaze. "Don't you go beatin' yourself up on that. What you did for me -- what you gave me --"

She swallows, breathing heavily before regaining control of herself.

"If that's the only sex I ever have, my whole entire life?" She stares into Jean's eyes with all the love and gratitude a mind can express. "It was _damn_ good."

"You can talk to me any time." And Jean smiles. For if she doesn't, her heart will surely break.

She leaves Rogue alone to get changed out of her gown. The wait outside seems interminable until the younger woman emerges, giving Jean a shy smile and tentative wave before retreating down the hall, disappearing around a corner. For some reason it makes her think of Scott, waiting for her in their room upstairs.

She scoffs at the idle notion. They just made love last night, on his return from out of town. Getting it out of him more than once a week is usually more trouble than it's worth.

But the flicker in her mind is stronger. It dances and sings as she makes her way to the elevator, coils in her belly all the way up. A slow burn that continues to simmer as she pauses, with her hand on the doorknob.

A heartbeat passes.

Jean opens her mind, finding her target and making contact at the speed of thought. In her room, Marie sits up in bed with a start, breath caught in her throat.

_Do you still want this?_

The heartbeat that follows seems even slower. Jean can feel Marie teetering on the brink, every nerve afire as she agonizes in decision.

And then the answer comes. A single wordless concept, with all a young girl's heart.

Jean closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Turns the knob, and enters her room.

"Hey." Scott's actually waiting for her, stretched out on their bed with his hands behind his head, not a laptop or file folder in sight. His slim, well-muscled body is less formally dressed than usual, wearing an almost-new pair of jeans and the grey sweater Jean got him for Christmas last year. As always, his eyes are concealed behind the custom wraparound sunglasses that hold his destructive eyebeams in check. But his smile is warm enough without them.

"Hey yourself." She shuts the door behind her with a soft click. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Terrible." Scott nods and stretches, rolling onto his side, hands still behind his head. "I'm swamped. Drowning in work."

"I can see that," she observes.

"And there's only one way you can make it up to me."

Jean blinks, taken aback. "So soon? I mean, not that I'm --"

Scott blinks back, then laughs. "I was thinking more of a cuddle, but..." Is that a blush? _Oh, yes._ "I'm open to suggestions," he concludes.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Jean feels a secret thrill of elation. It's always easier to convince people when it's something they already want.

She smiles, just wide enough for a hint of devilish. "What would you say to some irresponsible misuse of mutant powers?"

He shifts on the bed, giving the crotch of his jeans a brief tug. It's a failed attempt at subtlety, and a reliably endearing one.

"What did you have in mind?"

No matter what he might say, Jean can tell he's intrigued. Scott sounds normal enough, with just a touch of his ever-present concern for safety first. But the seed has definitely been planted.

"This might sound a little weird." She gazes at the floor, fiddling with the buttons on her shirt as she strolls up to the side of the bed, looking up at him through lowered eyelashes; calculated for the perfect balance of seductive and innocent. "But I've been thinking about it for a while, and...I just can't get it out of my head."

Scott looks bored even as he gives in and swallows, trying to hide the motion. "Sounds like it could be dangerous."

She leans down until their noses touch, her shirt half-open. "You think not brushing your teeth properly is dangerous." 

"It is dangerous," he nods. She can tell he's resisting the urge to free his hands from their current position, to take her in his arms and touch her all over. Apparently, patience and curiosity are winning out.

His lips open, hovering against hers.

"Tell me what you want," he breathes.

She places a chaste kiss upon his mouth. "To feel what you feel."

Scott blinks. Then he removes his hands from behind his head and slowly sits up, back against the headboard, never taking his eyes from her. 

"What..." His hands are flat and open on the bed at his sides, as though readying against imminent attack. "Precisely...would that mean?"

"Not as much as you think." Jean pitches her voice low and soothing as she sits at his feet, laying one hand on his own.

"I don't need to read your mind," she continues. Her hand continues to stroke the tension from his veins. "Or even your base emotions -- I mean, that might be nice, but it could also be -- well, a little _too_ distracting."

"Go on." Scott still looks suspicious, if slightly more relaxed.

"But the physical level? Basically, the reptile brain. Pure sensation." She holds up his hand to her cheek, staring into her reflection in his glasses as she bestows a kiss upon his fingers. "Like this."

A brief sigh from Scott. His hand envelops hers, holding on tight. For a too long moment he seems to stare at her from behind those opaque shields, weighing her in the balance.

Deep inside her, the shadow stirs.

"Okay." He swallows and nods, giving her the faintest of smiles. "I trust you."

Her hand finds his zipper.

The sudden pressure, the overwhelming _presence_ betwen her legs is almost too much to bear. Jean groans out loud along with Scott as her fingers snake inside his briefs, holding everything together as she carefully extracts him from his cotton and polyester prison.

"Oh, God..." Her head spins like a dervish, her mouth a burning desert. Every drop of blood in her body sings, every muscle poised like an arrow, centered on the ridiculous and insistent demand sticking out of her crotch. Her hips give an involuntary thrust, trying to shove it into the mattress before she remembers it's not really there.

"How do you walk around all day like this?" she breathes.

"By surviving to adulthood." Scott grits his teeth and deliberately slows his own breath, obviously concentrating on holding back. "It gets easier."

Jean gives him a cocky grin as she grabs on at the base, gently holding his balls with the other hand. She can't help but grind against her own heel that's tucked up underneath her. With his body overlapping onto hers, it's almost too confusing to feel her own pleasure along with his.

Then she remembers Marie.

Taking another deep breath, Jean opens her mind.

Then her mouth.

The noises Scott is making, the little tormented twitches as he tries to keep still, normally would all be pleasurable distractions of their own. Except nothing now compares to the beautiful insanity of feeling her own lips, her own tongue intimately caressing every last inch of her desperately throbbing flesh until her body vibrates like a struck tuning fork. It drives her to push on like never before, forcing herself further down with a series of violent moans and gurgles reflecting the motion of her own frantically thrusting hips.

Dimly, she can feel Marie's astonishment at the shared connection; the way the girl gasps at the sudden sensation of throbbing meat between her legs, and then a hot and eager mouth, clever hands that pull and push and cradle and squeeze. She can feel Marie throwing off her blanket and stumbling to the bathroom, hunched over as if in pain, stuttering hasty apologies to Kitty as she shuts the door. Once inside she turns on the shower full blast, frantically stripping off her clothes and hurling herself in as she frantically paws at her own crotch. Jean is going deep, surrounding and enveloping all three of them all the way down as she gives a delicate tug to those fragile eggs. Her lips mash against the root, quivering around the base as her tongue --

Scott yells, a shout without words as he pulls free of her mouth. The tightness of her fist milks and massages him as Marie grunts and squeals, one hand shoved between her thighs, the other hand holding herself upright against the shower wall as her body undergoes a long, painful-looking series of spasms. In the back of her mind is the faint awareness of Jean herself, and she can feel what Jean feels is --

Marie sags against the tiles, gasping for air. The penis in her mind's eye has fled from her awareness, conjuring the fleeting thought that at least this way is less messy. Her right hand is cramped from clenching so hard, the remnants of a pleasant ache slowly fading from her phantom testes. Not quite the endless ejaculations of a virtual Logan, powered by his accelerated healing factor, but still a gut-wrenching good time.

And yet despite her fading pleasure, Marie can feel the tiniest trickle of worry.

About what, she cannot say.


	3. The Last Deadloss Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Jean gone, the world shouldn't keep turning.

The Blackbird is silent as they head for the mansion. At least as far as human sounds; one of the engines has developed a discordant occasional warble, and when it gets bad enough the whole wing rattles like it's ready to fly off. They fly slow, literally under the radar, with maximum cloaking engaged, and not a word is spoken as they fly back home.

Without Jean.

The whole way there, Marie is trying not to burst into tears. She clutches Logan's hand with her gloved one, hard enough to hurt like hell, and he welcomes the pain. It doesn't help him not see Scott, sitting across from them straight as a ramrod and strapped in just like always. Logan can't even tell if he's staring at them through those opaque crimson lenses.

They walk into the mansion and Marie breaks into a run, straight up the stairs, into her room with a slam of her door. Sobs echo from above as Logan eases the professor's wheelchair over the threshold.

"Scott." Xavier's gentle voice is barely audible. The team leader turns to him in a daze, with all the incomprehension of a total stranger.

"Rest." The professor's plea carries no telepathic command. Nevertheless, Scott turns without hesitation and begins to climb the stairs. Logan almost jumps to catch him when he stumbles, and is glad for more than one reason when it turns out to be unneceesary. He feels more tired than he can ever remember. Which to be fair, isn't much. 

"Logan." The professor turns to him with a demeanor from the grave, wearing the most serious look he's ever seen on that face. "You will be there for her."

It feels like a question, for all that it sounds like a statement. Logan nods. This appears to be enough, and the professor wheels off down the hall.

Logan stands there, for all the ache in his heart utterly unable to think of anything but Jean. Her scent before he first laid eyes on her, the sight of her eyes as he opened his own. The flush in her cheeks as she walked into the room, just after he'd regained consciousness for what seemed like the third time in as many days; Marie peeking around from behind, hope written large on her face, and just the smallest bit of guilt. Almost as if --

"Holy shit."

Swallowing, he realizes he's spoken aloud. He looks around to find himself alone in the great hall.

In a daze, he wanders to the window, staring out at the snow-covered earth. He can't believe he never put it together before. But how? Or more to the point, what --

The more he thinks on it, the more his brain wants to tie itself in knots. Whatever happened between those two, one thing was clear: It hadn't weakened Marie's crush on him one bit. If anything, her affection had only blossomed into something greater; a joy so pure he can only feel horribly undeserving to name, let alone allow himself to experience. And as far as reciprocate?

Best not to think on it.

He goes to her room later that evening. Marie opens the door and takes in the sight of him, just long enough to see that he's wearing gloves and a long-sleeved shirt before she falls headlong into his chest, hugging so hard he actually has to brace his ribs. Her whole body heaves and quivers in his arms, dark and ugly stains slowly spreading across his flannel.

"I miss her too." Logan hugs back, still mindful of skin contact. A hiccup works its way out of her in between sobs.

"You don't --" But she stops and sniffles harder, drawing deep, shuddering breaths before finally gaining control of herself. She settles back on his chest and he pats the back of her head, slightly awkward as he strokes her hair.

"I think I do," he murmurs.

She draws back to look up at him. Tears stain her cheeks, her eyes wide with confusion and surprise.

"I _think_ I do." He adds a twisted lip and a cocked eyebrow, for additional emphasis. "And I don't need to know anything else. Okay?"

"Yes you do." She inhales, her lower lip wobbling as she struggles for coherence, her eyes huge with emotion. "I love you."

"I love you too." It's automatic. He barely stops himself from adding _kid_.

"Ah mean it." She scowls, accent thickening further still. "Like -- _really_ mean it." 

"Oh --" Rogue is looking at him like it cost her everything to say the words, as though her very life depends on his understanding. Consigning her heartfelt declaration to the trash heap of an adolescent crush might well cost him an organ or three.

He clears his throat. "Okay."

"And I'm not gonna stop." Fresh tears bloom in her eyes, tracing the paths of their predecessors in their descent. "But I'm not gettin' any younger."

Logan puts a hand over his mouth, stifling an awkward cough.

"So don't you go forgettin' about me." Marie manages a tiny smile. "You hear?"

"Ain't gonna happen." He hugs her again, fierce and hard, and maybe it's a trick of his own mind that smells something like Jean inside her. "That's a promise."

He leaves her in the doorway, illuminated from behind. It's an image he can carry with him as he heads back to his own room, when he realizes he's already gone the wrong way. Plenty of time to turn back. Instead he grits his teeth and presses on as the hairs on his arms, the back of his neck, all stand up and wave at the passing air molecules carrying Jean's scent. They'll be here for weeks to torment him. Months, depending who does laundry.

Her smell is overpowering as the door looms in his sight, and he breathes deep and slow, riding out the waves of emotion. Before he can do anything else, he knocks.

Scott doesn't answer. Logan is ready to leave when the door opens.

"Hey." He nods by way of greeting. Scott's taken off his jacket, but still hasn't changed or washed up. Logan's in danger of becoming downright concerned when he spies a towel in the other man's hand. Probably interrupted him just as he was about to hit the shower.

"I may give you a hard time still." Logan meets that blind gaze head on. "But you can count on me."

Scott seems to silently assess this vow. Finally, he nods.

"Good."

Logan nods back. On the verge of saying more, he settles for:

"Okay."

He walks away with a vague discontent lingering at the back of his thoughts. Then buries it all the way down, right where it belongs.

He throws himself into his new role with a vengeance. Plays the dutiful son; does his best to fill in the gaps when Scott falters. The professor's trust in him remains intact, and Logan begins to allow himself to think that everything will all work out. What little he can remember of his own past lives, as many as they are, is more than clear on that score. There is happiness to be found, if you know where to look.

But then Scott decides that he has to go look for Jean. And he doesn't come back.

But someone else does.


	4. Kiss and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phoenix rises, wearing a familiar face.

Logan curses again, fiddling with the instrument panel. Trying to figure out how to perform a basic full-body scan is a simple thing in theory, but with noone else around it's proving trickier than anticipated. He's seen Jean do it a thousand times, and he'd be happy to ask her for instructions. If she weren't the one lying unconscious on the table, stripped to a pair of shorts and a halter top, looking fragile and pale.

Something in her scent isn't right. It's not bothering him as such, but his inability to pinpoint the source of the wrong only goads him further down the path of anger and frustration, forcing him to backtrack more than once. He's on the verge of doing severe damage to the hardware when her eyes come open and a surge of joy rises within him, daring to hope.

It doesn't last.

Her impromptu and haphazard seduction takes him by surprise, long enough for him to respond all too willingly. But the blackness in her eyes, the snap of his own belt as it whips out of its loops and hits the wall, bring his libido to a screeching halt.

"He's tamed you." Jean's voice is a savage hiss as she slides off the exam table. "But you know. That's not what I want."

"I don't know a damn thing about you." With a supreme effort, Logan remains utterly still. "And the way you're acting, neither do you."

"Pop psychology? Really?" Jean smiles and bares her teeth. "It's certainly not what _she_ wants."

"Leave her out of it," Logan growls. His hands flex, the ache inside them yearning for release.

Jean throws her head back and laughs. It's a ringing peal of cruelty that sends a wintry chill through his metal-laced bones.

"Oh, Logan." She chuckles and shakes her head. "If you only knew."

"Jean, where's Scott?" He pitches his voice low, desperate to reach whatever of her might still remain. "What happened to him? What happened to Scott?"

"Scott?" Her eyes flicker. For a moment the blackness retreats, leaving only the woman he's come to know and love.

Something flares in her eyes, deep in his mind. An unspoken plea, as clear as his own thought.

_kill me_

Then the wall hits him in the back.

Logan lies broken and unmoving, seeing the world drenched with a crimson haze as the great circular entry door is blown clear of its reinforced hinges. The earth itself around the underground chamber trembles, ominous creaks echoing from the ceiling. Jean holds up one hand and strides forward, the whirlwind at her command keeping the debris at bay, whipping it into a frenzy. 

She stops, as a tiny form stumbles from out of the dust cloud. Jean's lip curls at the sight of Rogue, a miniaturized version of Logan in her jeans and flannel, her sturdy leather boots already scuffed to hell and back.

"Honey?" Jean's scorn is only exceeded by her pity. "You need to get your own look."

"You killed him." And as Marie comes closer, they can see her tears. Logan's eye falls upon her bare and trembling hands. "You killed Scott."

"For the sake of what we shared." Jean's gaze hardens. "Step aside."

Marie shakes her head.

Logan's spine reaches the painful point of reknitting itself. His agonized gasp is almost enough to distract Jean. But at the last crucial second her eyes go wide and her pupils expand, and then Rogue is flying through the air with a panicked scream.

Logan stumbles forward, his left leg nearly giving way beneath him. Twisting in mid-leap, he can't quite manage a complete rotation before Marie collides with him full force, her scream ending in a cry of pain. Nowhere near what would have happened, though. He holds that thought in grim triumph as they land in a heap, her fingers brushing his cheek on the way down.

A shudder runs through him, and Logan collapses on top of her. Through the dim drone of static, he can sense Marie hyperventilating as she struggles her way out from under him, fear lending additional energy and strength to that she had absorbed from their brief contact.

Thick smoke stings his nostrils, a distant klaxon alarm blaring in his ears. His newly regenerated spine emits a silent scream as he summons every ounce of strength, barely able to lift his head from the floor.

As he figured. It's too late.

Jean has left the building.


	5. Last Resort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The professor is gone, along with Scott. It's time to make a stand.

Logan leans on the fence and stares at the ice rink, watching Bobby and Kitty as they skate. Much like offrink, they keep drawing together and pulling away again. Two steps forward, one step back. Still, it's progress.

"I'm happy for them."

Rogue's quiet voice at his side stirs him from his reverie. It's a grim reminder of their current state of decimation: Their leader and founding father, a man beloved by all, unmade before their eyes. Taken apart in a single, all too slow moment by the entity Xavier had termed the Phoenix.

With no degree in psychology, Logan can only make an amateur's educated guess as to anyone's motivations. Still, the simplest explanations have a pretty good track record.

"Gotta find it somewhere." Logan fingers his dog tags, watching as Kitty gives her partner a helping hand up. It's the third time in five minutes. For a guy with his powers, Bobby is surprisingly mediocre on ice. "'Til the end of the world, right?"

Rogue bows her head. She's back to wearing elbow-length gloves, the rest of her body likewise mummified from neck to toe in various winter accessories.

"Is it really the end?"

She's never sounded so young and helpless. For all that he tries to think of reasons not to lie, it's harder than he would have guessed.

"I don't know." He's been wrestling with the facts on the ground since Charles Xavier became literal dust on the wind, right before his eyes. Jean had always demurred on the subject of her own abilities versus the professor's, but Xavier had specifically described the power of the Phoenix as potentially limitless. Certainly Logan had taken it as hyperbole, until he'd seen it for himself.

"Can you believe these guys? They actually want me in charge." His laugh is shakier than he would have liked. "Even Storm."

"You should be." Rogue is still gazing at her boots. "I'd have picked you. If I had to."

"Yeah," he chuckles. "You might be a tad biased."

"You got the most experience." Her eyes flick briefly toward him, a hint of amusement in her voice.

He snorts. "You callin' me old?"

"If the shoe fits."

It doesn't relieve the tension, as she returns to examining her footwear. He's about to say something first when she beats him to it.

"I wish I could stay."

Logan sighs, suppressing a flicker of irritation.

"I'm your friend." He emphasizes the final word. "Not your father."

She glares up at him, more in sorrow than anger. "And you know I want more."

"If that's not enough for you -- I'm sorry. But now's not the time." He holds her gaze, speaking with quiet urgency. "You know we gotta stop her."

Marie's grimace reveals the weakness in her resolve. "You mean kill her."

"If we have to." Logan doesn't flinch, though the prospect fills him with dread. Marie shakes her head, unrepentant.

"I can't help you with that." Marie is holding her own arms, hunching in on herself in a shaky hug. "I won't do it, okay? Just --"

She falls silent. Logan reaches out, his hand firm on her shoulder.

"I'm not asking you to," he says. "Whatever happens? Has to be what _you_ want."

"Really." Her flat and empty affect sends a chill through him, and then a hint of real anger.

"Really." He can't help the growl in his voice. "Otherwise -- what's the damn point? What are we fighting for?"

"What ah want --" Her accent thickens once more, as it always does under stress. "I want _you_ , you big dummy. And --" She wipes the tears away with a swift and brutal gesture. "I don't know any way I can have you...without the cure."

"You're not a goddamn disease." Somehow, he manages not to shout. Marie shakes her head again.

"I want _you,_ " she repeats. A single gloved finger pokes him in the chest, nearly hard enough to push him off-balance. "And I want kids. Which means we have to have sex. Lots -- and lots -- of sex."

"Quit it!" He grabs her finger, glaring down at her. She stares back, defiant and proud.

"You think a kid's gonna be safe inside _me_? God, you think they'll even last two seconds?" She swallows, trembling with emotion. "If I don't take the cure, I might as well be a walking abortion factory!"

"Stop," he groans. Bile rises in his gorge at the vile imagery. She doesn't look away as her slender fingers intertwine with his, all rough and calloused.

"But I don't wanna lose her, either."

Logan blinks.

"So until we get her back..."

His hand instinctively responds to her movement. A grim smile slowly spreads over his face at their mutual soul power grip, as Rogue lifts her chin and stands tall.

"I ain't going nowhere."


	6. Jean Dies at the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phoenix prepares to consume the universe, starting with everyone Jean loves.

A rising wind whips mercilessly about, throwing stray sparks into the air. All around her the fire roars higher with each fresh gust. Marie shields her face, trying in vain to see through the blaze.

The rest of the team are gone. Dead, or incapacitated; apart from Logan, and she's lost track of him in all the commotion. The human armed forces have been routed, Magneto's so-called Brotherhood likewise scattered to the four winds, their leader stripped of his powers in the most poetic act of justice Marie can imagine. The entire island of Alcatraz almost feels like it's shifting beneath her feet, preparing to sink straight to the bottom of the bay.

Through the crackling flames comes a dim howl. She almost reacts before forcing herself to watch the fire, to wait for an ebb. The howl has fallen away to nothing, and Marie breaks into a run, hurling herself into the gap between.

She lands and rolls, coming up to her knees to find her sleeve still smoking. She's batting it out when a voice nails her to the spot, its sultry languor doing little to conceal the sinister edge.

"Looking for this?"

Her heart sinks as she takes in the sight. Jean floats a few meters off the ground, arms outstretched as if to embrace the universe. Her duster lies to one side, almost in two pieces, the rest of her black jumpsuit sporting a plethora of jagged rips and tears. The telepath's eyes are solid ebon pools, her levitating form surrounded by an aura of fiery lightning that seems to cradle her within itself. A virtually crucified Logan likewise hovers before her, completely paralyzed and looking far less comfortable, his teeth grit in a petrified rictus.

"I'm surprised they let you tag along." Jean isn't even looking at her. She smiles, regarding her prisoner with seemingly genuine fondness. "Then again -- wild horses probably couldn't keep you away. After all..." She giggles, sending a trickle of nausea through Marie's belly. "He is your white knight."

Marie inhales short and quick, one hand covering her mouth. Each step is a fresh adventure in pain, her leather boots and uniform providing little protection. The levitating bodies loom closer in her vision, swimming in waves of shimmering heat.

_You can save him._

It nearly slams her to the ground from the sheer weight of it. Each word, each and every syllable and letter and micromeaning is engraved and tattooed upon her soul, reverberating down through the ages. An infinite echo that inflates her thoughts like a balloon, swelling in her skull until her brain threatens to burst.

_All you have to do is surrender._

The essence of the Phoenix surrounds her, engulfing every speck of her awareness. A raging conflagration that dwarfs the paltry flames around them, threatening to consume her very existence. 

_To me._

Rogue stumbles and draws closer still. Logan floats above, struggling to no avail against his invisible bonds.

His eyes widen in horror.

"Oh, no." And Jean is smiling at a frozen Marie; one glove dangling from her left hand, her right clutching Jean's bare forearm as she gapes in confusion at this sudden neutering of reality.

"You thought it would be that easy?" Jean's hand comes to rest on Marie's cheek, caressing her face with casual intimacy. The younger woman shies away from the touch, forcing herself to remain motionless as she searches the telepath's face for answers. But not a trace remains of the woman she thought she knew.

Only darkness, and an all-consuming fire.

She manages a single word. "How --"

"Really?" Jean dismisses her with a sneer. Before Marie can react she too is dangling in mid-air, pinned like a butterfly.

"Such a simple thing." Jean smiles as she takes in the sight of them together in her grasp. "You always think it has to be complicated."

Marie's head is spinning, a multitude of jumbled half-thoughts at war. Except over and above all the rest, outweighing every other consideration, is the cold certainty that she's failed. She never would have expected her ace in the hole to come up shooting blanks. Without it, she's playing an empty hand.

"Now that's a mixed metaphor." Jean cocks her head to the side, as though hearing something far off in the distance. "Sorry. Where were we?"

"You were doing the supervillain thing." The bitter taste in her mouth is anything but pleasant. Still, anything's better than being afraid. "As far as monologuing? Erik says he gives you a seven."

"The ghost of a fallen king." Jean's dismissive scorn quickly fades, her face empty and devoid of all emotion. Marie is still trying to think of something when a smile returns. It's not a pretty one.

"Remember us? All that raw, animal hunger, unrestrained? Without limits?" The smile grows crueler still. "I can make that real."

Marie's eyes widen in growing comprehension and horror.

"I would make you a prisoner of your own pleasure. Drain every drop of fluid from your body, just to see if I could outpace its healing factor." Jean's smile is tender, and it's even worse than her cruelty. "But there's something else I've been wanting to do."

A shiver runs through her body as her eyes flutter shut. Marie swallows, a sinking feeling in her soul.

"There we go..." Jean mutters, and a groan emerges from the depths of her throat as she stares down at the crotch of her skintight jumpsuit. The fabric swells further under her gaze, drawing fingers as well as her eyes, and Jean gasps as she strokes the thin leather, plucking and attempting to grab herself through it.

"You felt it, didn't you?" Jean turns on her side in the air, lounging out like a cat. Marie's unwilling gaze falls upon the now even more tightly stretched leather, the all too familiar outline underneath.

"And not just the first time." Jean giggles, her hips slowly undulating, lewdly thrusting as she continues to fondle the growing bulge inside her pants. "When I shared my husband with you?"

"And I never asked for that!" Marie finds herself yelling, with all her might. "Maybe I said yes, but -- that was all you!"

"You think?" Another sneer greets her in response. "That was all Jean. Poor, mousy, scared little Jeannie. I knew what she wanted. And I gave it to her."

Once more the anger disappears, replaced with something like love.

"And to you."

"I said never again." Marie enunciates each word with perfect clarity. "The Jean I knew? She understood that."

"Never say never again." Jean chuckles and writhes, both hands clutching at herself. Her long auburn hair falls downward from her sideways position, and Marie nearly cries at the strength of the urge to run her fingers through it, to smell her shampoo.

"See, you just grew a virtual penis. I've gone and got the real thing." Jean smirks. "Well -- as real as it gets."

Marie stares into those bottomless black pits. "Never thought the woman who asked permission to touch my shoulder would be rapin' me."

"Oh, honey. That's such an ugly word." Jean gestures with one hand. The buttons on Marie's flannel begin to twist, one by one, until her shirt hangs open. "It's why I don't ask."

Marie swallows, overcome with emotion. She knows she ought to be afraid. Instead she's angry, and more.

"Now we certainly have options available." Jean runs her hand down Marie's back, ending in a possessive squeeze. "I'm sure this tight little ass would just love a good fucking."

Marie shuts her eyes momentarily, unable to suppress the thrill of pleasure zinging through her quivering muscles. Not just her own educated guess at what such an act might feel like from her perspective, but the sudden flood of sensual knowledge and history from Erik. Apparently he's had plenty of experience in both roles. Somehow, she's not surprised.

"Or we could go the traditional route." Jean turns in the air, regarding Logan with a wry smile. "I know you've been saving it for that...special someone."

Logan's entire face seems to swell and turn purple, veins standing out like cables as every muscle in his body strains ineffectually toward Jean. A trickle of saliva oozes from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin.

"Oh, give it a rest." Another wave from Jean stops his struggles cold. Logan is still breathing, albeit far more slowly, and Marie finds herself horribly relieved. She'd honestly feared he might stroke out trying to break free from the psychic hold.

"That's better." Jean regards them both with a critical eye as her fingers find the zipper of her jumpsuit, sliding it down between her breasts. Marie's eyes are glued to the tiny piece of metal as it whispers its way south, exposing the soft and pale roundness of her belly, the hint of red hair between her legs. The telepath grimaces as her hand finds the right angle, popping herself free with a sigh of relief and a fresh rush of blood to her face.

"And so is this."

Marie swallows again as she stares. It's not all that much bigger than Logan's, but she'd seen and felt that from the other end. Just long enough to look sligtly out of place; just thick enough to carry an air of threat or menace. And uncut, which comes as an odd surprise. 

"I've been dreaming of this ever since I read Scott." Jean licks her lips, cradling her balls as her thumb and forefinger form a ring around the base of her cock. Her hips grind in the air, the head of her newly grown appendage turning a darker shade of red, almost plum.

"Now."

As one, they float to the ground, light as a feather. Marie gasps as the hold on her is released and she crumples in an aching heap. Jean stares down at her, the arrogant conqeror, a predatory glint in her eye.

"Show me how I made you feel."

"Yeah. I'll do that." Marie glares as she wrestles herself to a sitting position. "Right before I bite it off."

"You wouldn't." Jean's certainty is perfect in its serenity. 

Marie glares a moment longer before giving up any attempt at a bluff. She's on the verge of despair, at the end of her rope.

_It's all right._

The old familiar voice is almost a surprise, making itself heard for the first time in months. Marie can feel Erik Lensherr's presence as a warm blanket, with an instant calming effect. It soothes and surrounds her, holds her in its arms, shielding her from all harm even as it pushes the Logan in her psyche down and away.

_He'll only make things more difficult._ A kindly grandfather's chuckle, with the underlying slyness of an overly friendly lecher. _Trust me, my dear. With me in charge, this will all be over quite soon._

Her hesitation has little to do with him, and everything to do with Jean. Erik never wavers, lending his own resolve.

_The man I used to be? Out there, in the world? Now he is as powerless as I am._ A raunchy _joie de vivre_ fills his thoughts, consuming her awareness. _But I still have a few special abilities._

As if in a dream, her trembling hand reaches out.

"No, sweetie."

She blinks in confusion. Jean looks down in clear and open disapproval, and something resembling pity.

"No fair letting the old queen take over." Jean waggles her cock in a taunting gesture. "Don't want him having all the fun. Don't want _him_ ," she concludes, panting, near breathless.

_I can still guide you._ Erik's calm remains rock solid, steady as she goes. _The important thing is not to panic. Stay in control. Take charge of it..._

His thoughtstream sinks into her own, merging into a single roaring river. Marie shuffles forward, pulling herself by her grip on the throbbing piece of meat gripped within her fingers, her mouth falling partway open.

"I want to see more of you." Jean hisses in greedy anticipation, hands rising to her breasts. Her cock gives a slow, lazy bob in Marie's fist. "Show me your body."

Marie groans in humiliation at her own surge of lust as her free hand fumbles with her open shirt. She pulls at the fabric, and at herself, until her own smaller bosom hangs free.

"That's right," Jean hums. "Play with yourself. All nice and perky..."

Her lips press against the pulsing underside, enveloping the head from beneath. For an encore she flutters her tongue, her eyes a mixture of submission and fury as she gazes upward.

Jean barely breathes. "I could make you love me."

"I do love you." Rogue grabs on at the base, watching Jean's mouth fall further open, her face contort in seeming agony. "That's why I hate you."

Her open hand gives Jean's cock a solid and painful smack. Jean grunts and thrusts her hips, tears forming in her eyes.

"You bitch," Marie whispers.

Erik is still there in the undercurrents of her mind, providing comfort and encouragement as they begin their descent. Jean mutters and swears, one hand on the back of her head, hips trembling with need as cold fury lends further passion to Marie's efforts. She gets about three-quarters of the way and forces the issue, three times in a row and each one further down, grunting and gurgling with each fresh assault before pulling back with a gasp.

"God!" The shout tears from Jean's lips like the beating heart from a sacrifice. "That's right, little one. Don't stop..."

Marie holds it like a lever at the base and opens wide, slapping Jean down on her tongue, wriggling her oral muscle for all it's worth. Her left hand struggles through the opening in her uniform, wiggles into her underwear, finds cunt where cock should be and freezes before Marie herself forces the issue, shoving Erik aside in her mind as she clamps down on her throbbing clit, two fingers slipping up inside her with practiced ease. 

Mutual groans and moans fill the air as she begins a steady, piston-like rhythm, with heavy emphasis on the downward stroke. The fuller range of motion enjoins Jean to thrust even harder, grunting louder with each push. As for Erik, the former master of magnetism drives her movements harder with each repetition, glorying in the moment even as his own awareness struggles with the feeling of Marie's hand between his legs. Her fingers move in desperate little circles, stirring up a hot and glorious sensation wholly unfamiliar to him. Not in all his long memory has his pleasure been anything like this, and it spurs him on to vigorously redoubled efforts.

"It's so simple," Jean pants. "I know the answer. To everything --"

Marie tightens her grip.

Jean's ecstatic scream fills the air and the head of her cock throbs like a bomb, caught in mid-blast as Erik dives down. Wet and frantic sounds combine with her strangled, stuttering cries as the initial surge is followed by another, stronger still, and then --

Jean screams again, in pain and terror.

Her entire being explodes in fire, every atom coming apart at the seams. The darkest reaches of her mind flayed open and bare, exposed before the blinding light that burns her sight right down to her very soul. Everything that is the Phoenix, within and without her, fills her to overflowing.

She is the universe, and the universe is within her grasp.

Jean falls away, striking the earth, lying stretched upon the ground. A thin strand of drool hangs from Marie's mouth as she stares into the void, all of creation reborn and dying in the confines of her mind.

Logan hits the ground with an involuntary cry, his muscles screaming at the sudden release of tension. It seems like a lifetime he lies trembling before pulling himself partially upright, half-crawling, half-dragging himself toward the fallen women.

Something howls in his heart as he passes Jean's lifeless form, already growing cold. A crazy part of him is laughing hysterically at the realization that her body has returned to normal. The way she lies, broken and innocent, she looks like the victim of a violent act.

Marie lies on her side, her gaze fixed on eternity, her tiny frame wracked with convulsions. He manages to sling one arm around her and hangs on, watching in helpless agony as night fills her unseeing eyes.

Her lips part, and whisper.

"Kill me."

The rage that grips him is enough it wants to burst clear from his chest, splinter him in a million slivers. Then he realizes, and his blood runs cold. He's not hearing Marie.

And she's not talking to him.

"I won't." A sob works its way free from her throat, her voice once more the young girl to which her body belongs. "You can't make me --"

_You have no choice._

An involuntary spasm runs through Logan and he tastes fresh blood, trickling from his nose. That silent voice is Jean raised to perfection, a goddess made more than flesh. To hear for long will surely split even his adamantium skull asunder.

_Kill or be killed._ The Phoenix resounds in their heads. _You cannot contain me, child. I will be your death. And then --_

Marie's lips move without sound as the swirling blackness recedes from her eyes. Logan feels his heart sink at the sight of her fear being swallowed whole, in fatal realization.

Another spasm runs through her. Logan holds her tighter and rocks back and forth, whispering a constant stream of what sound like prayers in his clumsy, roughly accented Nihon. All around them the fires are going out, slowly being extinguished as a gentle rain begins to fall.

_I see._ For all the pain it still evokes, emotional as well as physical, the voice of the Phoenix is full of infinite regret. _So be it._

"No!" Marie's cry echoes over the blasted and blackened landscape, through still smoldering trees, over the moonlit water. It pierces Logan's heart as he holds her, watching the world passing through her eyes.

"I said --" Marie sniffles and hiccups, beyond all hope of composure. "I ain't gonna lose you."

_You will not._

Slowly, the grief and misery fade. And as little as he's known of it himself, in all the days of his life that he can recall, Logan thinks he can recognize that look of wonder on Marie's face, approaching awe.

The Phoenix speaks once more, with quiet and subtle strength. _I leave you with a part of me..._

"Oh --" Marie trembles in his arms and falls limp.

Her breathing is shallow, but stable. Logan nearly misses the final words.

_And a part of her._


	7. Lost and One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath, Marie realizes her gift.

The first thing she hears is the quiet.

Marie drifts languid through the black, floating up toward conscious awareness. Gradually, little noises begin to make themselves known to her: The tick of the tall clock in the hallway outside her room, Xavier's pride and joy, inherited from his own grandfather. An owl outside her window, sending out its last calls to the world before bedding down for the day. Her muscles are stiff when she tries to move, but not too sore. And now she can hear the slow breathing of someone else, a few feet to her right, themselves still aslumber.

She opens her eyes to find Kitty Pryde slumped over in a chair by the bedside, chin on her chest, arms loosely folded in her lap. The brunette shifts in her sleep, a brief snore emerging before falling silent.

Looking around, Marie finds herself in her own room, back at the mansion. The morning sun is nearly past her window, making it roughly nine o'clock. She lifts her head with a grunt and scoots back to rest against the headboard.

Kitty stirs and looks up, disorientation turning to recognition.

"Hey, you." Kitty's casual tone belies her concern as she sits up, running her fingers through her hair. She's only a few months younger than Marie, but right now it looks like years. "You okay?"

Marie sits the rest of the way up and straightens her spine.

"In one piece." She swallows, grimacing at the dryness and faint aftertaste. "Can I have some water?"

She's lying with her head turned to the side, looking out the window when Kitty returns. The bed sags as Kitty sits down, placing the glass in her hand. Marie looks down at the odd sensation, and feels the old familiar resignation as she takes in the sight of her friend's gloves.

Kitty holds her hand as she sips. Her eyes are full of compassion and curiosity as she takes back the glass, setting it on the nearby table.

"What happened?" Marie nods and takes a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky sigh. "That's what everyone wants to know, right?"

"Sort of." Kitty gives her hand a squeeze. "After me and Leech took out that Juggernaut asshole -- that was all I knew. 'Til Logan brought you outta there."

A brief stab of fear. "Is he --"

"He's fine. Well -- physically." Kitty keeps up the pressure, striving for reassurance. "I know he'll be a lot better when he sees you."

The dissipating panic leaves her empty, feeling hollow inside. It only serves to remind her of everything they've lost; Scott, the professor, and --

Marie sits up with a gasp, staring at nothing. Kitty's immediate and instinctive reaction is to pull away. Which is perfectly sensible, but still enough to spark a twinge of the old _leper outcast unclean_.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Marie swallows, the fullness of memory rushing through her in a flood. "Everything."

"You're scarin' me," Kitty says, and she does sound worried. "I'm gonna get Logan --"

"Wait."

It clearly takes every ounce of courage Kitty has at her command to comply. Marie bows her head, carefully assembling thoughts into speech.

"I killed her." Her matter-of-fact statement is marred by a slight wavering, and Marie clears her throat. "She -- turned off my powers. But then she got distracted, just long enough. And I --"

Kitty remains silent as Marie collects herself once more.

"I had the Phoenix inside me. I _was_ her. And I wanted...to destroy everything." 

Her eyes remain dry.

"She let herself die. So I wouldn't." Her voice trembles again. "And -- everything was just...burned away. Her, Jean -- all that power. Gone."

She stares at her open left hand resting on her thigh, palm facing up. Kitty is still holding on to her right.

"But I remember how it felt." Marie looks up, into the eyes of her only best friend. "It makes me want to cry. And scream."

Kitty's face crumbles. Marie shakes her head.

"And it makes me feel...joy."

Kitty watches, her eyes wider with each and every motion, as Marie slowly pulls off her glove.

"And hope."

"Holy..." Kitty's lips tremble as they hold up their joined hands, staring at the interlocked fingers.

"What in the hell --" Logan comes to a halt in the doorway, still covered in dirt and blood, grizzled and bloodshot. His gaze falls upon their bare hands, and his eyes nearly bug out of his skull.

Marie looks up at him. And now there are tears, as she speaks the truth.

"This is what she gave me."


	8. At Long Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every once in a while, there's a happy ending.

To everyone's surprise and apparent disgust, they don't immediately fall into bed together. For one thing, there's just too damn much to do, from rebuilding the mansion to reestablishing diplomatic relations with the government. Neither of them is willing to sacrifice caution for impatience, and it takes more than a week of testing to establish beyond any shadow of doubt that Marie's control over her powers is now absolute. The week's end is a triple funeral, and the only thing that saves her from a complete breakdown is the memory of Jean, the presence of Logan at her side.

They spend the next few days literally sleeping together; talking for hours nose to nose until they fall asleep, or alternating who gets to be front spoon. When she awakens from nightmares he's right there for her to hold on to, and to hold on to her in turn as she reaches back into more pleasant memories, finally recounting for him the story of Jean's first gift to her. By the time she reaches the end of that sordid tale she's blushing up a category five storm, the bulge in his jeans threatening to rip right through.

"Now?" She strips off her shirt and crawls on top of him, planting hot kisses all over his stubbled jaw, rocking back and forth as she rubs her moistening flesh against the rough denim. A groan comes from Logan as his hands reach down to encompass her ass like a pert little apple, squeezing until she's shoving back at him to spread herself open.

"Not yet," he manages. His fingertips brush against her outer lips as he lets go, giving her left cheek a hearty smack.

"Bastard." Marie burrows into his neck, deeply inhaling his scent. She rolls off him to stare at the ceiling, panting.

"Can't just be right for you, darlin'." Logan leans over and hugs her hips, taking an enormous whiff of her crotch in return. He rests his cheek on her pubic mound, gazing up at her with an equal mix of sappy and sly. "Trust me. When I'm ready?"

She shivers and squirms as he plants a kiss over her navel.

"You'll know."

She takes her revenge the following night, coming to bed with her hair up in pigtails. Logan rolls his eyes, but Marie doesn't miss the secret glint therein, his casual dismissal a certain sign of too much protest. They stay up past midnight talking, and she makes sure to occasionally give the tails a saucy flip and twirl. Her Amazon order arrives the next day to up the ante, causing Logan to inhale his beer when he walks in to find her on her hands and knees in a crotchless mesh bodysuit, topped with a pair of black lace cat ears. He recovers with admirable speed, picking her up in one arm and dropping her over his shoulder.

"For me?" His meaty hand lands on her exposed ass with a firm slap. "You shouldn't have."

She's expecting to be thrown on the bed and ravaged. Logan just throws her on the bed, does that damn deep and sexy chuckle thing and heads for the showers, leaving her to stew in her own juices.

The rest of the week is taken up by extra work, most of it trivial in nature. This leads Marie to try the reverse psychology route wherein she feigns lack of interest. It doesn't last two days before she's climbing the walls and hurling blunt objects, with Logan stoically bearing the brunt of her wrath.

"He's trying to drive me crazy," she tells Kitty that night, over a pizza she can't be bothered to touch. "I swear. After all we've been through --"

"I think it's romantic." Kitty sighs, twirling a long string of cheese around her finger before popping it into her mouth. "Like, hundreds of years ago romantic."

Marie falls back into her pillows with a groan. "Bastard's got me wearin' a virtual chastity belt."

"Hey, nobody's stopping you from doing you." Kitty cocks a knowing eyebrow, aiming the point of her pizza slice at Marie. "You want to wait for it as much as he does."

"I don't need a drink," Marie says with a snarl. "I need to --"

"Whoa, boy." Kitty holds up her hands. "I like you and all, but -- Bobby doesn't share well with others."

"Hope you're havin' better luck with him than I am." Marie blushes. "With Logan, I mean."

"Honey?" Kitty nods over her shoulder. Marie turns to see Logan standing in the doorway, leaning on the jamb with one hand tucked in his belt loop, framing the crotch of his jeans. "I think your luck's about to change."

"Um." Her ears on fire, Marie watches as Kitty gathers up her plate and takes her leave. The brunette squeezes past Logan, sending a meaningful glance in his direction, and gives Marie a little wave over his shoulder.

Logan reaches behind him and shuts the door, his eyes remaining fixed upon her.

"Tellin' stories out of turn, were we?"

"Just a little girl talk." That tight curling sensation just loves the sound of his voice, pitched low and smoky like whiskey running between her thighs. "Call it my bachelorette party."

"Huh." Logan looks at the floor and scratches the back of his neck. Marie sighs as she stands up, flicking away stray crumbs from the bedspread.

"Logan?" She paces slowly toward him, stopping at a hair's breadth as she cranes her neck to look up at him. "If you don't fuck me before you leave this room, I swear I am gonna cut your heart out."

"How long you want me to stay?" And he gathers her into his arms, picking her off the floor with casual ease.

"Forever," she whispers as she embraces him, her legs rising to wrap around his waist. "For the rest of my life."

"We'll order in." Logan nods, apparently comfortable with this scenario. Marie leans in and nuzzles his whiskers, gnawing her way down the length of his jawline until she devours his mouth with her own. She's a bit concerned when the world begins to spin, but it turns out he's just laying her down on the bed, smiling like she's the one not getting the joke.

"Hurry up," she mutters. One hand snakes into her jeans, fingers pressing down on her clit. Poor thing's swollen so bad it feels like a little cock, trapped inside her panties. "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up --"

"Oh no, girl. You're not rushin' me." Logan's smile turns to a grin as he unzips her pants and pulls them free, tossing them over his shoulder. Marie's eyes widen as he pulls her hips forward, spreading her thighs and staring hungrily at what lies between. "After all..." 

He descends with a growl.

"A man's gotta eat."

The agonizing slide of his tongue through that steaming, sopping mess is more than a shock, it's a revelation. Other than the touch of her own hand, her only experience has been temporary and imaginary, and with the wrong organ to boot. It's almost exactly like the experience of someone sucking her cock, except where it's completely different. The penis felt like it had taken over her body; now, with Logan delicately nibbling around the tiny, raging erection of her clitoris, applying more pressure as his tongue delves further inside her, it's like her cunt _is_ her entire body. Her inner muscles grasp and clench as he strokes ever inward, his hum of pleasure vibrating through her jangling nerve clusters.

"Oh --" Marie grits her teeth and cranes her neck, forcing her eyes to remain open. Because no matter what this might feel like, seeing is most definitely believing; and it's definitely Logan down there, eating her virgin pussy for everything he's worth, broad shoulders pushing her thighs further apart as he burrows deeper inside.

"Sweet -- screamin' -- _Jesus_ \--"

She can almost imagine her own flesh sizzling and smoking from the heat. Logan has slowed his pace somewhat, keeping her riding high with each fresh lap of his tongue. 

"Now," she chants, breathless. "Now, now, now --"

His hand fumbles at his belt, rips the buttons from his fly as he fishes it out all angry, stiff and red. Exactly as she remembers. Except it didn't look quite this big, from the other side.

Like a fragile doll, Logan hoists her up again, legs encircling his waist. Then he turns around and sits on the edge of the bed, his cock poking up between them like a periscope. She giggles and hugs him tight, moaning as the root of it presses into her slickness, the shaft grinding against her clit.

"Fuck!" She's practically sobbing as she lifts her knees, feet flat on the bed as she squats over him. His enormous hands grab hold of her ass and spread her open, so wide she thinks she may split in two. The blunt head nudges her outer lips apart and stops, twitching against the tightness of the barrier just inside.

"Meant to ask about that," he mutters.

"Too late now." She laughs, on the verge of hysteria. "Now, now, _now_ \--"

A mutual howl erupts from both of them as he shoves her down on his cock, the sudden pain immediately subsumed by pleasure. A dim memory flares to life in the fragment of Logan that still resides inside her; a wartime visit to a tattoo parlor, feeling the sting of the needle even as he suspected it would be for nothing. And it was true, for his healing factor had caused the ink to fade and disappear before the week was out.

"Fuck!" Logan's cry joins her own, then a second time. He raises her up and slams her back down, like a less fragile doll. Then again, and Marie bites down on his neck as his roar echoes from the walls and ceiling, gush after gush of hot semen rocketing up inside her trembling body as she rocks back and forth on him, pushing down with all her might to get every last fraction of an inch.

He's still coming in her when Marie starts to shake and swear, grinding against him in a rising frenzy. Fills her to overflowing, streams of his own fluid leaking out of her and still their cries and moans rise to a crescendo that threatens to shatter the windows. Her second orgasm has turned into a third and he's still coming, God almighty Jesus saints and sinners as he bruises and batters her insides to a lovely screaming pulp and oh fuck what on earth is she thinking -- 

It's when he rolls them both over that she starts to worry, even as her legs rise, her feet hooked over his shoulders. He starts slow, but it doesn't take long before he's slamming into her with alarming force, skewering her tiny, squirming body harder with each successive thrust. She can't even tell if he's still coming; the tremors alone make it hard enough, let along the blissful disorientation. And speaking of hard oh there it is, right there and she comes shrieking, splitting her own eardrums with embarrassing volume. Or it would be if she gave a damn about anything but this _fuck_ \--

By the time he rolls her over again, up onto her knees, Marie feels a right mess indeed. Tears and spit and all sorts of bodily fluids cover them both, mostly her, and she can't get enough. But another memory is returning, of her first time with Jean; how her own virtual healing factor had mimicked Logan's own, making it near-impossible for her desire to be fully quenched.

"Wait --" she manages. Logan, poised to shove himself inside her once more, leans down along her back.

"What's that, darlin'?"

"Lemme --" Marie reaches over to the bedside table and takes a quick sip from her water bottle. Then she leans back and spreads her arms wide, gazing up at him as she very deliberately runs her over her upper lip.

"Let me," she repeats. She swallows in anticipation, and the tinest hint of anxiety.

Logan stares at her open mouth, seemingly mesmerized. His cock bobs once, a spurt of clear fluid dribbling down the shaft.

"You're sure." His gaze drags almost reluctantly upward. "After she --"

She smiles in encouragement and sticks out her tongue, thrilling to its obvious effect on him. Logan's Adam's apple bobs like his cock, desire and concern warring in his eyes.

"C'mere, you." She reaches up and takes his hand, leading him forward to straddle her until the tip of his cock rests upon her tongue. "Easy does it..."

He sounds like he's dying as he slips inside her; looks like it too, like he's the one being penetrated. She remembers that feeling oh so well, hovering over a willing Jean as she fed inch after inch of herself into that quivering, slippery hell of a heaven. Thankfully he's not as long as Jean had made her own cock. A bit thicker, though. She can feel him getting thicker and harder, straining her to the limit as she blinks up at him, wide eyes tearing up with effort.

Logan's strangled scream cuts off as his cock swells further still. Then the spasms take over, the initial spurt nearly drowning her before Marie manages to gulp it down, grabbing the thrusting muscles of his ass in her own tiny hands. Even through his animalistic ecstasy, Logan appears on the verge of pulling back.

A door opens in her mind.

Logan's body freezes, his unseeing eyes staring at nothing. A series of rapid- fire convulsions shudder through him, each accompanied by an outpouring of sperm, in greater volume than ever before. Marie can't help choking and spluttering as she pulls free, grabbing his spasming penis and continuing to wildly jerk and milk it, aiming each fresh stream at what she can only hope is new and unmarked territory.

Logan sways above her. His eyes wobble and cross, a final spurt from his cock landing across one of her nipples in a gleaming, silvery rope.

Then he falls to one side.

"Oh my God --" Maris scrambles out from underneath him. Her hands reach to cradle his face, and then hesitate. "Logan?"

"Uh!" The profound, rumbling bass is the sweetest sound she's ever heard. Logan lifts his head, bleary-eyed and racked with confusion. "What th'..."

"Thank God." She throws her arms around him, shivering in stark relief. He returns the hug, looking down at his now-limp penis resting along his thigh.

"God _damn_." The expression on his face is hard to place, until she realizes he's impressed. "I think you broke me."

"I'll bet I can fix that." She snuggles into his chest, running her fingers through the thick layer of fur. "Just give it a few."

"Seriously." He shakes his head as he stares at his cock, already beginning to twitch and stir. "What the hell was that?"

"Little present from Jean." She watches him carefully for signs of distress. Instead, he only looks more confused.

"The control you have now. That wasn't it?"

"That was the Phoenix." Her fingers trail down his belly, resting in the forest of pubic hair. "This is nothing."

"Whole lotta nothing," Logan mutters.

"No big deal. Just a little tap on the pleasure center of the brain." She takes him in hand once more, purring in appreciation at the feel of him rising in her grasp. "Like one of those reflex hammers."

"Better save that for emergencies." Logan curls one arm around her. Marie sighs in contentment, enjoying the warm and squishy feeling.

"Three funerals and a wedding." She chuckles and sniffs as she wipes a tear away. "Gotta laugh, huh?"

"You want a wedding? You got it." Logan plants a kiss on top of her head. "As long as you let me pick the music."

Her breath is steady. In and out, to the beat of their hearts. Marie remembers everything, the good with the bad. And the light prevails; shining in her mind like a beacon, showing her the way.

"We need to have _so_ many kids."

Logan chuckles. "Not that I have any objections, but -- why's that?"

Marie can't help but giggle.

"How else am I gonna get any rest?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone once asked me if I'd ever thought of doing a sequel to 'even in vegas'. At the time, I had no idea what might happen in such a thing. That may have been because I'd blocked out the memory of seeing X2 and 3 because they're just not very good. But something recently stirred in my memory, I wrote down the skeleton of an idea, and it snowballed at an amazing speed. I don't think this sequel is as genuinely great as the original story, but I do think it's more than good enough; in fact, I actually think it's pretty good overall. As usual, my best ideas are still hampered by my own execution when I try to put them into practice.
> 
> The 'telepathic tap on the pleasure center' is a trick used by Psylocke in a long-ago smutfic by someone else entitled "X-Tenuating Circumstances". Its only flaw is that Logan doesn't go all the way with Jubilee after having given her a good spanking, but you know what a gentleman he is.
> 
> Needless to say, I doubt there will be further adventures in this series. But never say never again...


End file.
